ch.1 | fox with an envelope

broken hearts, star-furred foxes, and odd invitations

Dear future self,

I usually don’t keep a journal outside of wordsmithing. There were many attempts before, believe me, and they were left forgotten. To be completely transparent with you, I don’t know why I thought it would work out this time. But you see, my life has become a series of peculiar events that even I myself don’t quite comprehend and find a logical explanation for. Imagine if I chose to share about them with someone else? They might think I’m mad!

Let’s start from the very beginning.

The day before Christmas, I found myself crying during Midnight Mass. And it wasn’t because the choir sang heavenly. And not the beauty of many flickering candles in the hands and paws of visitors. Not even the sentiment of it all.

My heart was broken, completely shattered just moments before the service, by a boy I believed to be my one and true forever. And out of all the 365 days of the year, he chose the one that I loved the most - Christmas.

So there I stood, head hung low, bangs closing my eyes as bitter tears rolled down my cheeks. The light of my candle becoming blurry, shaping into the vision of a starburst. I couldn’t force myself to look up, knowing my eyes would betrayingly follow to the spot where he stood.

That night sleep didn’t come to me till the crack of dawn.

I woke up late with puffy eyes and pillow streaks on the side of my face, when soft knock came at my door - my older brother Jake. Opening it just a crack, making sure I was awake first before crossing the room without a word, he sat on the edge of my bed, while I lay staring at the wall, tracing the wallpaper pattern with my finger over and over again, ignoring seeing worried look on his face.

“Mum is prepping brunch, you need to eat something,” he said, proceeding after a moment of pause. “He’s not worth your tears.”

“You say that just because you despised him,” my voice came dry.

“Despise is a strong word. But hey, now I have a solid reason to consider doing it.”

He pursed his lips, noticing my look of disapproval. Sighing, he lifted his head to look at the window above my bed, while I returned to follow lines and swirls on the wall.

“I’m waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, leaving the door ajar. He knows it’ll bother me, so I would eventually leave the bed to close it.

(I did stood up a few minutes later with a heavy huff, but only because I had to use the bathroom.)

Leaving the premises of my sorrowful chambers, crossing the hall barefoot, my steps silent, when I detected an unusual movement in the corner of my eye.

There, in the floor-to-ceiling window, I saw a fox trudging through a thick layer of snow in our back yard. Was it hurt? Did it feel the warmth of our cottage, the smell of food? No, it carried something in its mouth.

Carefully stepping on the side of our creaky staircase to avoid raising attention, I approached the back door, pulling mum’s winter wellies, stepping outside in nothing but my night gown.

Regarding each other’s presence, the fox stopped short distance away, close enough for me to see that it did in fact have something clenched in its teeth and notice the unusual fur pattern. Never have I ever seen a fox dotted in small white speckles.

“Hi,” I said to the creature.

It placed a sealed envelope on the snow, giving me a better view of white dots on its back. They weren’t just dots, but small stars. Fascinating.

(At that very moment, I was more confused as to why a fox out of all the creatures would deliver a letter, when mailing crows and pigeons existed? But then again, my spirit animal was a fox. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, right?)

Curiosity took the best of me, as I took the envelope, studying the details of the golden wax seal, bearing an image of a curled in a soundless sleep fox.

“Dear Julia M.B.

We are delighted to send you this letter as you are cordially invited to join ███████ Society, a secret circle of Wordsmiths and Storykeepers.
To answer your questions, as I imagine you have some - yes, your dreams hold meaning, ghost stories are very much real, and literary arson is possible, therefore not advised.

We are expecting you Monday, January 25 at exactly 3PM, on 23 Silverwells St., Arcadia Woods. Don’t forget to bring:

• your spirit mask (wear it and don’t take it off)

• that story (you know which one I mean)

Use the code “fernwhistle” but never say it out loud, and try not to startle sleeping gargoyles.

In dreams and ink stains,
M. Veil (Chair of Cryptic Invitations)”

I looked one more time at the bushes in which the fox had disappeared moments ago.

“Julia? What are you doing here in your nightdress? It’s freezing!” my mum stood at the door.

How odd, I haven’t even felt it.

prompt of the day:

you receive a mysterious letter/invitation from an unknown/anonymous source.